


Dancing

by sheafrotherdon



Series: A Farm in Iowa 'Verse [15]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-26
Updated: 2008-07-26
Packaged: 2017-10-11 22:04:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which John and Rodney dance at Laura and Brad's wedding</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dancing

There's dancing at Laura and Brad's backyard reception – lots of dancing, to every kind of music, undertaken with varying levels of skill according to personality, drunkenness, and age. By ten that night, the playlist's switched to slow songs, and though the kids don't heed the change in tempo, twirling in a corner of the yard as though the world will stop spinning without their help, the adults, by and large, take the cue. Brad pulls Laura into his arms, kisses her sweetly, dips her to make her laugh and his answering smile's just as bright. The Brennemans shuffle a slow, even foxtrot; Ada dances with Mitch who, it turns out, has rhythm after all; Brad's parents sway in one, single spot; two of the day-care moms spin each other around, tipsy on champagne. There are more couples – new, old, convenient, pledged – on the dance floor than John can count, and he weaves between the hangers-on to where Rodney's watching everything, smiling contentedly. John doesn't say a word, just catches him by the hand.

Rodney squawks – John knew he would – and pulls back against the force of John tugging him forward. But John has the advantage of momentum, and he's a heck of a lot more sober, since he's the one they decided would drive. "Hey," he says, smiling fondly when he finds them a clear spot on the trampled-down lawn.

 _Rodney's_ momentum's not easy to stop when he's a) baffled and b) drunk, so he careens into John's chest and tilts his head back, stares at John, mumbles, ". . . but prom was a _disaster_."

And John laughs softly, kisses him right on the mouth, uses his knee to nudge him into motion. "This isn't prom," he grins.

"Noooo," Rodney says, shaking his head, then nodding, his hands winding around to John's back. "No, see, you can't, because I can't, with the, and so many _feet_."

But he's dancing already, shuffling side to side in John's embrace, and all John has to do is raise an eyebrow to make him realize it.

"Oooh," Rodney says intelligently, then he turns a blinding grin toward John. "We're dancing!" he whispers, and snickers just a little.

John noses at his temple, pulls him a little closer, shifts until they're pressed cheek to cheek, smiles at their heartfelt, slow-swaying clumsiness, their sobriety and coordination only just enough for one. "Yeah," John whispers, and closes his eyes, enjoying a moment he would never, in a hundred years, have imagined for himself with anyone, much less a prestigiously tipsy physicist-guy.

"Mmmmmph," Rodney says, shifting to lay his cheek on John's shoulder. "I like you an _awful_ lot," he mumbles. "Even in shoes."

And John's chest warms, his spine lengthens, and he stays there through three more songs, swaying and laughing and listening to anything Rodney has to say.


End file.
